Why to me is your favour presented
To aging flesh and a wilting ardour
With further shrivelling anticipated
When your vitality has all to gather?
My wants are not of boyish inception
Though the pumping heart and the longing thought
Differ little from those of younger passion.
Yet fulfilment from another source is sought.
Not the thrill of bodily integration,
But words of fun and surprise and candour,
Of beauty and intimate revelation
Which give you that incomparable allure.
There is a separation I foresee
You are a much better poet than me.